


can i confess these things to you?

by sxldato



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bitterness, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Does Not, Everyone Is Gay, F/M, Homophobic Language, Jealousy, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nausea, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Possibly Possessive Behavior, Seasickness, Self-Esteem Issues, Vomiting, and bucky didn't know, eventually at least - Freeform, peggy has her shit together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 07:52:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sxldato/pseuds/sxldato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sea-legs are important during war; you never know when you're gonna have to get somewhere by boat, and you have to be prepared.<br/>Bucky does not have sea-legs, and he is anything <em>but</em> prepared-- especially when he has to deal with his best friend's girlfriend on top of everything else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	can i confess these things to you?

**Author's Note:**

> an anonymous user requested bucky + motion sickness and it finally got done holy SHIT  
> this was originally just supposed to be gross but i really wanted to write a thing involving peggy being rad as hell and bucky being a pile of garbage so. that's what i did  
> honestly though i love the potential of their dynamic and i love the idea of peggy having her shit together and bucky being a complete disaster  
> unbeta'd i'm soRRY  
> title is from Nightime by The xx

Seasickness, he learned, was not something he had grown out of.

He’d been hoping it was, because there was no way he was letting his fellow soldiers see him so vulnerable. He was a sergeant for a reason, and he wasn’t about to be brought to his knees by a few rocky waves.

He wouldn’t admit it was more than that; he wouldn’t think about how Steve would look at him with such worry, or how alien it would feel for Steve to take care of him when it had been the other way around their whole lives. He wouldn’t think about how what Steve had done had changed everything, because then he would be angry and bitter, and he couldn’t afford to be like that.

He figured out quickly that there was no safe spot for him on the boat. The deck at the front had fresh air and he could look at the horizon, but the jerking motions of the boat were the worst there. Downstairs in the cabins was closer to the center and was less shaky, but it was hot and stuffy, and it was hard to breathe.

They’d been on the water for barely a half hour when his stomach started twisting. He grit his jaw against the queasiness in his gut and closed his eyes. He hoped that the rest of the people in the cabin would just think he was sleeping, and would try their best to not disturb him. It would have been nice if he actually _got_ some sleep, but the mattress beneath him was thin and hard, and the blanket was made of scratchy, military-grade wool. And besides, he hadn’t slept a full night in weeks, even when he was on solid ground; he’d never be able to sleep in a place like this.

The cramped feeling of the room along with the hot, suffocating air had him fighting back the urge to choke. A line of sweat had broken across his brow, and he raised a shaking hand to wipe it away. The onset of the nausea was always so fast; it seemed like only minutes had passed when the first twinge of discomfort had appeared, and now his vision was swimming and there was a painful ache in his head.

He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and rested his head in his hands. A burp rose in his throat and he pressed his mouth to the back of his hand to let it out quietly.

“Buck?” At least Steve’s voice still sounded the same. In times as chaotic as these, it was hard to figure out what was real and what wasn’t. The fact that a man peeling off his face to reveal another _was_ real and his vivid hallucinations of blood on his hands _weren’t_ —well, that could mess a guy up pretty badly. So he found comfort in things he knew to be true.

“I’m okay,” he lied, waving Steve away. He really wanted to be alone. “Just a little woozy.”

“Are you sure? You’re not looking too good.” Steve knelt down in front of him, and Bucky was forced to meet his eyes. The sight of him only served as a reminder of how much he’d failed, and it made his stomach turn over again.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” Bucky insisted, swallowing the tight feeling in his throat. Part of him was glad Steve said something; the rest of the Commandos had ventured off somewhere else to drink and be merry at the mention of him feeling unwell. The rest of him, however, was utterly humiliated. “Do you mind giving me some space?”

Steve drew back, brows furrowed and the corners of his lips pulled down. “Sure, yeah, if—if that’s what you want.”

Bucky nodded and watched, a bit guiltily, as Steve got to his feet and left the cabin. Once he was alone, he exhaled slowly and his shoulders slumped forward. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been until he wasn’t. He felt bad that Steve made him so uneasy; he felt bad that he could barely look at his best friend anymore; and even though he felt all those things, they didn’t compare to the betrayal he felt that Steve had chosen the war over him.

That wasn’t a fair accusation to make and he knew it, but that didn’t prevent him from feeling it.

Bucky’s stomach lurched and he groaned, doubling over and pressing his forehead against his knees. He could still detect the subtle movements of the boat even from the center, and he struggled to breathe deeply through the stuffy air of the cabin. His hands gripped the mattress, fingernails digging into the blanket as he inhaled sharply through his nose and exhaled through his clenched teeth.

He’d take more motion over the stifling heat, so he got up on trembling legs and made his way up to the deck. It was nighttime, so there was no sun beating down on his face and there was a breeze that cooled his skin. His knees buckled as he went to stand by the railing, but he didn’t fall.

“Sergeant Barnes.”

He should have stayed downstairs and met his fate in the windowless room. Now not only was he considerably more ill, he was presented with another immediate problem that took the form of Peggy Carter. He could barely deal with her when he was healthy; she was too sharp, too witty, always keeping him on his toes. It would be impossible for him to keep up with her now. When was he going to catch a break?

“There is no God,” Bucky muttered to himself.

“Sergeant,” she repeated, coming to stand beside him by the railing. “Are you alright?”

“You know any Jews besides me, Agent Carter?” Moving his head would only aggravate the vertigo, so he didn’t look at her. He just kept his eyes on the murky black water that was punctuated with the reflection of the stars. “Cause you might wanna get somebody to teach you the mourner’s kaddish sometime soon.”

“You and Captain Rogers both are truly talented at being overdramatic.” Her tone was light, or as light as he thought Brits could probably get.

“Don’t talk to me about Steve like that,” Bucky growled, swallowing thickly. “Don’t talk like you know him. You—you _don’t_. _None_ of you do.”

She remained calm, which made him even angrier. But the nausea was getting so bad that he couldn’t do anything except bite back a whimper and press his head against the cool metal of the railing. He was going to throw up, and it didn’t seem like Peggy was going to leave him alone, so he resigned himself to the inevitable shame he was about to experience.

“I have no desire to replace you in Steve’s life, James,” she said. She spoke softly now, gently, in a way that didn’t hurt his brain. “And I doubt Steve wants that, either.”

“Oh yeah?” He spat into the water below them and ignored the awful taste that was starting to appear in his mouth. “What makes you say that? You don’t think he’d wanna trade in a queer Jewish boy from Brooklyn for a classy British dame who can fire a gun? Because anybody with half a brain would make that trade.”

He looked over at her just to prove himself right, just so he can see the subtle raising of her eyebrows. “You gonna send me home for being a queer, Agent? I wouldn’t stop you.”

“I’m not.” There was an odd quirk in her lips, and it took Bucky a moment to realize that she was smiling. “If I were to, then I might as well send Steve home, too—along with myself.”

The sickness he felt was replaced by shock for a few moments. “You’re—“

“Yes.”

He had many questions, most of which he wasn’t sure he was even comfortable asking, but he didn’t get a chance to say any of them. The boat lurched and he hunched over himself, clapping a hand over his mouth as he gagged. He fought the urge to vomit, but heat was racing up and down his back and he knew he wasn’t going to get through this ride without incident.

“I’m sure they keep some sort of antiemetic on the boat, if you’d like me to go find it for you,” Peggy suggested.

“Doubt it’d do much good at this point,” he managed before doubling over and retching into the water. He hadn’t eaten much since he’d been in Zola’s lab—he was thin, far too thin, and vomiting couldn’t be doing him any favors-- so there wasn’t a lot to bring up. It still hurt, and his pride was still shot to hell, but it could have been worse. It was just a lot of choking and gagging and, to his utter disgrace, crying.

“Would you prefer to have some privacy?” Peggy asked. Her hand was resting on his spine, and in a time of such weakness he could openly admit to himself that it was a comfort.

“No,” he found himself saying. “No, don’t—don’t leave me alone, god, don’t leave, that’s all anybody ever does—“

“Alright, alright.” She spoke softly, and her fingers were cool on his flushed face as she pushed his hair back. “I’m won’t leave.”

“Stay…” He swallowed thickly but only ended up gagging again. “P-please, stay with me...”

“I’m right here, James. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.”

It was taking a long time for the nausea to die down, longer than Bucky was willing to wait. He had one of his fingers halfway into his mouth when Peggy took his wrist.

“Don’t do that,” she said. “Your hands have been god knows where, and you’ll tear up your throat. You just have to let this take its course.”

Bucky sank down onto his haunches, still hanging onto the railing with one hand, and pressed his head against the side of the boat. His breathing came out in short, labored gasps, punctuated by hiccups. He didn’t want to look at Peggy, but he made himself do it despite his watery eyes and sickly complexion. He owed it to her, needed to show her he was grateful for her. “Why’re you being so nice to me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Peggy said with an air of casualness. The moon cast sharp, elegant shadows across her face. Envy had skewed his vision, but now he could see it; he could see how beautiful she was. “I suppose it’s because I understand your anger—I’ve had my fair share of being swept aside, too.” She glanced down at him. “I’m sorry I took him from you.”

He let his grip on the railing drop and turned around, pressing his back to the boat and resting his forehead on his knees. “You don’t have to apologize,” he mumbled. “Christ, _I_ should be the one apologizing. I’ve got no right to be upset.”

“What makes you say that?” Peggy sat down next to him, crossing her legs at the ankles.

“It’s selfish of me, you know? To be bitter when Steve’s finally happy.”

“You can’t control how you feel.”

“But that says something about me, doesn’t it?” He raised his head and focused on the subtle line that divided the dark sky from the dark land. “That this is how I feel. A decent person would be happy for him—and I guess I am, but mostly I’m…” He laughed, but it was short and self-deprecating. “I’m just sad.”

“You’re allowed to be sad.”

“You think so?”

Peggy smoothed down the hem of her skirt. “Yes, I do. You’ve been with him through everything, I’m assuming. You tried your best to keep him out of this war, he didn’t listen to you, he became something you thought he’d never be, and suddenly everyone is throwing themselves at him. You think they’re shallow, cruel, because they only see the uniform and they wouldn’t give him a second glance before the serum.”

He’d begun to fidget with the hem of his ratty green sweater. “Am I paying you by the hour now, Agent?”

She smiled. “You weren’t exactly doing a good job at hiding how bitter you are.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say. A thin sheen of sweat covered his body and his hands were beginning to shake. “Do you hate me?” He asked, feeling childish, but he wanted to know the answer more than he wanted to preserve what was left of his dignity.

“Oh, god, no,” Peggy said, responding as if he were ridiculous for even considering such a thing. “I told you, I understand why you’re bitter, and I don’t blame you for it. Do you hate _me_?”

“No,” he responded immediately, more for his own benefit than for Peggy’s. “No, I… I hate that Steve can love you and not me. I hate that it makes sense for him to choose you. I hate that he was turned into war propaganda, I hate that he doesn’t need me—so all I’m really good for at this point is killing people.”

She wasn’t smiling anymore. “I’m sorry, James.”

He scoffed. “What for? My crushing insecurities or my constant need for validation?”

Peggy shrugged. “Everything, I suppose. This war took everything from you, and there’s nothing to be done. And for that, I am truly sorry.”

He had to look away to blink the sudden tears out of his eyes. “That’s the first time somebody’s said that to me.”

“It should be standard protocol,” Peggy said, and Bucky smiled despite himself. “But I’d like to ask you something, if that’s alright with you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“Could you call me Peggy?”

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Well, I’ve been calling you James this whole time. It’s only fair for you to call me Peggy.” Her eyes were dark brown, but there was a glimmer in them that Bucky couldn’t pinpoint. “For now, for tonight—let’s not keep ourselves in the mindset of war when we don’t have to.”

That’s when he finally got it. She hated this war just as much as he did.

“Sounds good to me, Peggy,” he said.

The moon was slipping lower into the sky, but there was yet to be the soft glow of the sunrise. “You should go,” he said. The nausea was starting to come back full-force. “’M not getting any better, and you need to get some sleep.”

“Nobody sleeps on these boats,” Peggy said. “Why don’t I stay out here with you? You could probably use some company.”

He needed something to keep his mind off the nausea, the painful cramping in his stomach, and he needed to get along with her. And he wanted to. He wanted to be able to call her a friend. “… Yeah. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

There was a playful smirk on her lips, and it fit well with the sharp, clean edges of her red lipstick. “Do you want me to tell you the time Steve jumped on a dummy grenade?”

“ _What?_ "

**Author's Note:**

> _I couldn't spill my heart_   
>  _My eyes gleam looking in from the dark_


End file.
